


Four Winters (A Eulogy or a Fairytale)

by imaginedandreal



Series: VM, Fairytaled [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, fairytales - Freeform, just my perspective, not even closely a sad ending, soulmates?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:04:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedandreal/pseuds/imaginedandreal
Summary: Wasn’t it common knowledge that two golden decades were strong enough to hide a fleeting shadow from the past?





	Four Winters (A Eulogy or a Fairytale)

...They had three winters between them. A river of silver between golden banks.

The fourth one did not resemble the others. Those first three winters were the plot of their lives thus far, the denouément, the climax, _in medias res._ The fourth one promised both a beginning and an end. Not everyone who observed them understood it all. Not even he and she did, despite it happening to them.

The first winter was bright and hopeful, with the innocent charm of a bride in white, on whom are fixed all eyes. The world marveled at them, the two talented youngsters. The boy stood proud and tall enough to tower over a crowd - his podium was just a pleasant bonus. He held a girl’s hand, and what a girl she was! A willowy creature, half human, half fairy, a graceful beauty of an Odette in a pure white dress. And the boy’s matching shirt billowed like the sail of a great ship. A great expanse of ice was their ocean to fly on. When the girl floated serenely, what did she depend on? Her own agility? or the boy’s unwavering support? They were swan and his mate, prince and princess, two haloed angels.

His hand in hers were more natural than the order of the world. For the first time, they shared a treasure, and it was breathtaking. The boy thanked the girl, and she smiled volumes of gratitude back to him. Here, the rules of the fairytale would demand a wedding, but they glowed brighter on the podium. Altars, even wedding ones, meant sacrifices, and the pair couldn’t yet relinquish their treasure - the joy for their eyes and the pride for their hearts.

Their golden winter was more yellow then, like the sun of the dawn in their life. Dawn it was, but not for long - their triumph shyly peeked over the horizon, to begin a rapid fiery blaze that would enlighten their days. It was akin to a cherry tree blooming pristine blossoms in January. Simple yet ideal loveliness.

Fate was tempting, _Your quest is over. You have the gold. Now go live happily ever after._

(They would, just much later).

Like all days, that golden hour had to surrender to the night.

The boy and the girl did not know that. Their haze of happiness put their vigilance to sleep...

* * *

The boy and the girl stepped into the second winter with even higher hopes. They could not afford to play the parts of fate’s darlings anymore. That winter, too, was somehow colder, sharper, more blunt, like the slashes a blade makes across the ice.

All perfection is marred by reality.

The ice’s pristine face is sometimes mercilessly disfigured.

The girl worked hard. She wished that, by sacrificing her blood some time ago, she had convinced this second winter to soften its austere verdict of _You can’t._

The boy was there for the girl, working alongside her, except he was all wintry polar opposites. Sometimes, a comforting snowy blanket, other times a betrayal in black ice, or an eerie stillness before a blizzard.

The prince and princess could not know that evil magic will soon transform their shining ice palace into a freezing trap, that they themselves will be yanked out of their fairytale by a fairy godmother who would take her mask off to reveal her second nature of a dark witch. The fickleness of sorcery! The witch decided that there were other pretenders for the throne; another princess could wear the coveted golden slipper and the other prince is hero enough to gain the treasure this time. The road to gold turned out paved in such a way that neither our boy nor our girl knew that the light at the end of it was not a warm one but one colder than ice.

The silver that they found instead of the treasure of their dreams was silver, shockingly numb to the touch.

Silver made everything dim. Dull. The sharpness of it cracked the ice between them, leaving them on the opposite sides of an ever-growing abyss.

It was a cursed mirror, that small circle: they shoved it far away, out of reach. It was unbearable to see their own devastated reflection.

The weight of the silver broke the girl’s wings. Agonizingly, her own princess persona melted like wax off her face, to reveal a woman. A tired, disappointed woman, who wanted to crawl under her white blankets, away from the world in which fairytales had the unfortunate tendency to end.

The same weight dulled the fire in the boy’s soul and carved from it the spirit of a man. He tried to escape the pain by seeking deceptively golden liquids that lighted an artificial flame inside him.

They had sacrificed all to have all the gods and magicians turn their back on them.

Dark were the days of that winter. Lonely and hopeless.

The man and the woman thought of not each other, but their own flaws.

* * *

The third winter turned out, miraculously, the charm. Not right away. Bit by bit.

Silver slowly gave way to steel. Steely blades, a steely determination, nerves of steel.

It was a more forgiving metal than silver. It did not reflect their failure at them anymore, and, for lack of fairytale scenarios, the man and the woman began to rewrite their story anew - that of ordinary people.

_We dare._

They carved their desperate wishes into the ice, creating fanciful loops and swirls. This time, both thought: _This is not a miracle. This is our livelihood._

A fairy godmother and a fairy godfather watched them from the side: _you will._

The man stopped seeking false fires. The woman’s laugh kindled a true one in his chest.

The woman relaxed her steely posture. The man’s presence gave her strength.

It was all they needed. They came out onto the ice and soared as one soul, saying: _This is our fairytale, our story. Not fate’s, not the universe’s, not yours. Ours. Mine and hers. Mine and his. Admire it, world, and remember at what cost we were able to create it._

The world stood in rapture, watching the prince and princess who were long buried inside the man and the woman resurrect as king and queen.

The phoenix rose from the ashes.

The new day pierced the night’s black heart with a golden sword.

The king and queen triumphed for all to see.

_Our gold. Ours and no one else’s. Yours. Mine. Ours._

Only then did they understand what the struggle was for!

A fairytale that they wrote and rewrote themselves would endure a longer time than the first one that seemed written for them by their stars.

* * *

Here, one could close the book. Three winters, three fairytales, beginning, middle, and end, were behind the king and queen. All was well.

The fourth winter seemed to be a conclusion. The king and queen have sought all the gold and could now live the happily ever after that they have been promised.

What would the new winter bring?

Now, once more, their tale could write itself. They did not need to labor to bring it to life.

A new November was the ruby in their golden crowns, until…

She appeared out of nowhere, like a strange footnote in their carefully constructed narrative. Where two are soulmates, three are discord, but the king and queen, the man and woman, did not decide that - it was decided for them. The audience could not stand any threat to the harmony of the fairytale. They lashed out against their idols. They accused the man of betrayal and the woman of cowardice. _Hosannah_ met _Crucify_ in a matter of seconds.

A handful of the audience did remain. They understood that fairytale narratives and happiness are not always synonymous, and that stories can go in thousands of directions.

The other woman - and she didn’t have that name for obvious reasons, she was just another woman - was from the time that the man, the king, was a small boy and still believed in tales written by others. Their paths separated when the boy took the hand of the girl, one _meant_ for him, and became a prince, as the girl was a princess after all.

Two decades later, all it took to plant a seed of doubt was for the girl to stand beside the king and make an optical illusion of an abyss between him and his queen.

Wasn’t it common knowledge that two golden decades were strong enough to hide a fleeting shadow from the past?

They wrote their own story. By doing so, they strengthened it immeasurably.

The tale of the king and queen doesn’t easily tarnish. It’s wrought in gold, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> That was fun (to write). If anyone liked it, let me know below. Love you guys, no matter what storm this fandom weathers <3


End file.
